Images from the Stepping Stones project were published here in Shanghai on December 2nd.
Stepping Stones to English by — AROUND 300 native English speakers are helping migrant children learn English and gain self-confidence. They regularly visit far-flung districts in the Stepping Stones program. Esther Young reports.
It started…
Atop Huangshan, in the Clouds.
We left Shanghai on Thursday, October 29th…as I had convinced Jason to leave work a couple hours early and to have a day off on Friday. I had bought our train tickets earlier that week at the local train ticket office, it was a great practice of my Mandarin and a success. Surprisingly, you can get around speaking English in Shanghai fairly easily, which is a bit unfortunate for a shy student of Mandarin – I don’t HAVE to speak Mandarin.
Before we leave on Thursday, I buy snacks at the local LianHua and upon arriving to the train station early. We purchase four na’an from my favorite Chinese ethnic group, a pomello, and Jason’s beer – as he was pretty bummed our last train trip for running out of beer so soon with Ned.
Upon entering the waiting room, the cattle lines are already in form and I am able to find a short line to the far right. We board our train car, and it seems a bit more retro and older than the train we took to Beijing a year ago. It’s okay, of course, I just hope we don’t have any roommates, let alone snoring roommates or people that love to listen to their “ringtones” and “songs” off their cell phone without headphones. The unfortunate part is that we are next to the bathroom. I am a light sleeper, let alone on a moving train with loud cackling girls next door (I believe that’s where the local party was that night)…I begin to imagine the knocking of the door throughout the night or even better, the wonderful noises I will awaken to in the morning. In the West, we are so modest about our bodily functions and sounds…here, it’s all very open.
We gnaw on some na’an, I have 1 beer and Jason has a couple more, munch on some Pocki, peanuts, and tofu. Jason buys a toothbrush from the cart man, ends up having to buy 2 and has to convince the man he does not want to buy toothpaste.
I love staring out the windows of trains through China. Seeing what I can see – though it is dark by the time we leave Shanghai and enter Suzhou. The landscape lights up in blues and purples from the 1 “sky rise” in town – coming from the local KTV. The landscape is generally KTV – factories – fields – factories – KTVs – Apartment Buildings – factories – fields – train station – and so on. I love it though. To compliment the cool blues and purples of the KTVs, the factories are a warm yellows and oranges. My mind wanders…what is this town like? what are these people like? who works in this factory? what do they make? is their laoban nice? is for export?
The night ends early after one episode of “This American Life” on the iPhone and a couple of chapters through “Oracle Bones”. It seems that I do have a “snoring” roommate, thought its not too bad and I am use to this “roommates” snoring.
I can’t fall asleep, more looking out the window…I can’t stay asleep…I keep waking upon arrivals to train stations to the train stopping…to the train GOING BACKWARDS…or the man singing next to the bathroom ever couple of stops. There were a couple of moments in the evening when I was walking between a dream and lucid state – translating the announcements. I wake in the morning a couple hours before arriving to Huangshan, to again, translating the breakfast announcements down the hallway. Then come all the morning “announcements” from the bathroom – though I swore I could still smell the smell from using the toilet the previous evening.
I get up slowly, and look out the window. It’s foggy, it’s early…I see the old villages we are going through. The water buffalo? oxes pulling little men through scattered fields. The women watering crops…lots of women are working…”Jason, where are the men? Are they being lazy?” The crops fields are small and never in a perfect square – there isn’t John Deere here…it’s old school. There are these little hay huts through the fields…they look similar to the hay in the US if the bundle was pushed on it’s side and then a little pointy, Chinese style hat was placed on the top. Maybe hay for the animals? For cooking?
The homes are white with the traditional roof tiles that I am a bit obsessed with. It’s beautiful out here, it’s clean, and orderly, and peaceful. I spot some tea fields but mostly seem to be food for the local communities. I hate riding by train…I just want to jump out the window and land in this town and look around – though I would stand out terribly. I wish I could go invisible through these towns…and I am sure if I were to roll in on a bike alone – there would be no chance of being invisible. Make note…bike ride 2010: Anhui.
We arrive…really, the train station is so small and old…good sign – “off the beaten path”.
Upon exiting, we buy a map and then bombarded by old women wanting to sell us rain coats, maps, bus tickets. Over and over and over and over. Even though we have a map in our hand, they need to sell us more. We are now in Tunxi, which according to a website, it was a must see if you travel to Huangshan. It’s about an hour and half from the Mountain.
We find our hotel, stop by a KFC for coffee, go walk around the city, buy return bus tickets (rather than the train), go back to watch some tv (Jason naps / I shower), go check out this area of old buildings and some 1000+ year old stone slab walk way then walk along the river…we take a very long walk at night. Out to kind of nowhere – aimlessly looking for something to eat. The entire walk, I am looking around, imagining what I would do if I were alone and had a bike to lock up and needed to sleep. I am imagining the situation and wondering how my survival skills would fare.
My recommendation…just another small Chinese town. If you live in China and have ever spent more than one day out of a First or Second Tier city…don’t stress about staying in Tunxi. Two thumbs down from me.
We get up early in the morning, check out, grab some food from a cart and head on to the bus/train station to get our way to Huangshan. I am anxious to see these mountains.
It’s an hour long ride in a fairly safe mini van of sorts. Except I have Mr. Loud sitting right behind me…and to add to that…his boistorous voice is non stop and raspy. Probably too many high quality Chinese cigarettes…or just talks WAY TOO MUCH. Non stop for over an hour….Jason tells me has to go to the hospital to see someone.
Arrival at the base of the mountain…I get one of those “delicious” canned coffees – I’m jonesing. (parenthesis often means sarcasm – if you know me in real life – you understand). Some guy, offers to drive us around in his little VW. So we have him talk to our hotel to find the location and we discuss when to see the mountain. It is already 10am and he stresses that it will be very crowded today and by the time we get to the peak it will already be 1 pm. He recommends seeing some other locations and then seeing the main point very early in the morning. We agree.
Check into the hotel, which is at the North Side of the Mountain…my goodness…if I walk out of the hotel and through the parking lot and stand in the road…I see a miraculous view of a mountain. Okay, so I am from the East Coast, of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Those are mountains…and yes, beautiful…but they are far from West Coast Mountains – which I have only seen from pictures and airplanes, besides Mt. Rainer – which I admire from a distance every time I visit Seattle.
It’s been a couple of years since even seeing a mountain so I love it. We get back into the tiny car and start winding through the mountains. Tiny villages, lovely, long winding roads, wonderful, it’s all great – I wish I hadn’t spent the day in Tunxi and come out here instead. It’s quiet, peaceful, empty…at least along the roads – with a passing of tour buses on these narrow roads. Jason and I both are now analyzing the scenery and the ability to roll a bicycle through here. It’s possible…with a lot of work.
We make it to the first peak. We walk up for about 20 minutes…we chuckle when see that you can pay some fellows to carry you up the hill in a chair. We make it to the top, we now see what the locks that were being sold for. There are chains on the look out with locks. We arrive to the peak with no one except for 2 fellows “rock climbing”. Not really climbing…but rather setting up ropes that you can slide down for about 15 yards. Who knows…it’s China! I take some pictures, get chased by bees…we leave.
Next mountain peak. Lots of tour buses…lots of megaphones, lots of black dots with matching fluorescent hats. Women in their heels (as gender roles are stuck in the 1950’s) and men with their briefcases. You never know when business calls!! It’s all appearances here…even in the rural mountainous areas…gotta keep up the image that you are so important you are still wearing your work attire and business documents to go “hiking”.
Jason and I pace ourselves…to stay away from the crowds. I hope this is not an inkling of what is to come tomorrow. We pass the people…we keep walking…walking…along a clear water stream….really?! Clean and clear?! Rare. We pass a hornet/bees next again…keep walking. We walk down to the water, it’s warm out…I’m in a tank top and shorts. Shoes are off, pants rolled up…belongs protected among the rocks. The water is cold, smells clean…feels so good. The water must be coming off the mountain…virgin water. We play in the water for about 20 minutes, just hang out, soak in the sun. Socks and shoes on…we leave. Pass the 40 something tourists just arriving…adios suckers.
Our driver wants to know if we have eaten yet – hoping to get a free lunch out of graciousness of hiring him to drive us around. No, we are finished today…back to the hotel.
Back at the hotel, we eat a bunch of junk food/garbage and then go out for dinner. We buy some tea from an old farmer woman and continuing walking around Tongkou. It’s very pleasant and quaint. The restaurant we choose is so cheap and fairly good. There are dogs playing around, there are kids playing around, we just end the night walking aimlessly. Finish the night off with some television, this evening is like the previous times Jason has napped on this trip…he falls alseep and I yell at the television about how they are full of garbage and don’t know what they are talking about. You know, just being that self righteous, all knowing Westerner (sarcasm).
6am…Shower…Free Continental Chinese Breakfast…Check out…Check Baggage…get on large tour bus for the main attraction. It’s overcast, chilly, and rainy…it snowed in Beijing the previous evening. We are scrunched into the back with some other foreigners – though the bus is a majority of Chinese wearing matching Burberry Print Gilligan/Fisherman’s hats. Our bus driver is obviously a professional…he drives quickly up the mountain, a hairpin turn about every 30 meters – making close eye contact with the passengers of the oncoming bus. We arrive to the Southern part of Yellow Mountain…Jason and jump off the bus and attempt to leave all the rest behind. The further from the masses, the better…though we can seem to shake this couple – he in his dress clothes and her in her velor/velvet warm up outfit – I think it had “Juicy” on her rear or “Abercrombie” or something like that. East consuming West.
We make it to the gate…file into line with about 70 people in ponchos. Jason gives me his look…like “what the hell have you gotten us into”. He can’t stand lines and crowds more than I. Jason, I apologize, I didn’t know it was going to be like this. In my American Imaginary mind…I imagine it to be like National Parks at home. Where you pay a couple dollars to get in and you are surrounded by nature and peace and quiet – not tons of people. It’s loud..it’s crowded…it’s obnoxious…it’s typical. This IS NOT “off the beaten path”. I don’t want to see people, I don’t want to hear your conversations, and I don’t want to smell your breath because you are standing so close behind me. Deep Breath – make this the best you can.
After waiting in line for about 30 minutes we make it to the cable car which takes about 15 minutes to get to the top. We share the care with the trailing end of the tour group we were sardine’d in with in line. “ooooooohhh…ahhhhhhhhh…hen gao”….picture taking time. I follow their lead and capture Jason with his “I hate this but only you know” look. Sourpuss.
It’s so cold and wet at the top. And we are greeted by even more people/tourists. It’s only 8am…I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like in a couple hours. I turn to Jason, “okay, let me take some photos and we can leave”…not so easy.
We try to avoid the crowds, even more difficult. I am watching the pushing, the shoving, the disregard for anyone’s safety. On overlooks, there is a woman waiting for her partner to photograph her and she is pushing people away at arm’s length. With a grin the whole time and motioning how humorous it all is to her.
Within 20 minutes, my Mamiya 7 quits working. The battery is frozen…this must be the reason…the only reason I can come up with. Digital it is then. There are moments when the sun breaks out and lights up the area around us…these brief moments are beautiful and make up for the the wind nearly blowing us down these man made stone steps that go along the peak of this mountain. How do we exit…I ask a tour guide where we are in Chinese, no help. We just go along the paths…passing people…surprisingly enough I only spot a couple other foreigners – because the crowd is one thing but people staring at me just adds to the irritant.
WHOA! We arrive to the canteen and I find myself standing next to the smoking area. WHAT IN THE HECK??!!! This is a National Park, in the forest, on top of mountain, and you all are just smoking like chimneys. God Bless America!!! I have to move in disgust, we walk away not before having to walk over people’s “picnic areas” where they have laid a sheet down over the entire sidewalk for their crew of 7-9 can eat their lunch. Eating time is very VERY important here…my nerves are gone…Jason’s were gone by the time we got in the cable car. We push up the mountain walkway…straight up…passing people walking 4 person wide lines on a 2 meter wide path. I don’t care anymore…I push through…”When in Rome”….passing women in their heels and men with briefcases. Most everyone is eating something, loudly.
I will NEVER EVER go to a “must see” location in China…I’ll save my money and time and have someone drop me off in the middle of nowhere with a sleeping bag and tent.
(wow, I can feel my stresses all over again just by reliving this)
We make it to the most Northern peak where the cable car is. It’s broken. Let’s start walking….
MY GOD IT TOOK US 3 HOURS TO WALK DOWN STEPS!!!!! At one point we stopped by another snack stand for a bathroom break. As I was waiting for Jason, I sat on the picnic bench where there was food, a worker, and a woman. Some man comes over and starts raising his voice to her, she gets up to go sit with the other women. OH, look at you big man…
Disgusted.
We continue down the mountain, amazed at the men carrying buckets of supplies, cases of water, heads of cabbage, and bags of rocks up the mountain. I try to guess the age of the men as they pass me and we discuss how they may get paid. I predict that they are paid by the weight they carry up. Because some of these young guys are loaded down. I wonder if it would be better to carry a really heavy load and only make one trip – though it would take you all day. Or to take 2 light loads. Those steps were a nightmare (our legs hurt for 4 days afterwards – where we played a game of “poke my leg muscle” and see who flinched more).
Jason is pissed, I am tired. Return to the area of our hotel.
We are eating lunch and about 3/4 way through Jason looks at me and says, “Some guy just pulled a dead dog out of those bushes over there. And it wasn’t the body of a dead dog, it was like the skin and paws – no body. It was kind of big”. I look over to where I had approached some puppies the day before and didn’t see any dogs. “Why’d you tell me that?”
Sad.
We are tired and over this trip. We grab our bags and ask how to get back to the train station. Supposedly we can wait along the road for a bus to take us back. We wait 15 or so minutes before Jason asks the guy on a motorcycle. He points to the bus that’s been sitting there since we arrived with a napping man in the drivers seat. We are informed that is the bus but he won’t go into town until the bus is full….
…alas, then a small bus straight out of the moving “Darjeeling Limited” arrives. This is our transportation back. We are the first passengers and we begin to head down towards the city but pull over to the side of the road. The ladies try to sell us tea through the windows but we have enough and don’t need anymore. One woman gets onto the bus and sits down. Her hair is coal black and pulled back into a bun. She has a makeshift basket/backpack loaded with tea. She is wearing light blue utilitarian pants with some horizontal patching along the knees. She must be in her 50’s but her skin appears to be so soft and clean, with deep inset lines around her eyes.
Our bus turns around, we pick up a fellow and then park in the parking lot near the North Entrance of the mountain. The Entrance where we finished, according to Jason, “our Death March”. We sit, I listen, they talk. Within about 30 minutes, we have smelled about 5 tins of tea and Jason has bought tea from this woman. First she sold us these 2 containers, then she had some others and was expressing how difficult it was to sell them because of grocery stores and such. So Jason wheels and deals with her, and she becomes a very happy saleswoman, handing me a tangerine from her pocket. I can’t help but stare at her…so simple, so beautiful, I want to follow her home and experience her life. I wonder if she has children, if her family has lived here for generations, how many people are in her home, where is her husband…I try to visualize her village. The bus gains 4 – 5 more passengers. I move to the back as my legs can’t handle the small space. The bus starts up and we are off…
…you would think but not such luck. We drop the woman who sells the tea back off where we picked her up…Jason and I wave and smile goodbye. She did good for an hours worth of sitting and talking. We then HEAD BACK up to the North Entrance…the whole time honking at people on the side of the road and opening the doors and yelling at them. This is a slow process. Back to the parking lot. We turn around…repeat process…back to the tea women…turn around…head back to the North Entrance…slowly, shouting…honking. Parking lot…turn around…back down the hill towards the city…some foreigners…they get shouted out – doors opened – they step back slightly startled. Confused. Bus continues…this time past the previous stops of the tea women.
The bus is full. He’s still honking while the other is standing shouting out the door. About 15 minutes we pick up an old man and a young girl. She is about 6 and he must be her grandfather. The “shouter” looks at us in the back row and motions for us to move to the side. I am sitting next to a 6′4″ (I assume) European man and I look back to the “shouter” – “BU KEYI”…he is smirking at us and I can see renminbi money signs in his eyes. I want to push him out the door, as it’s been over an hour now and we are sardine’d – once again. The European moves out of his seat and has to sit on the spare tire on the middle of the bus. We continue…more honking. What are these guys thinking…oh that’s right…the religion of capitalism….
The little girl can barely sit between me and her grandfather. She is more or less balancing against the seat resting against him. They are country folk, and there is something about their smell that reminds me of Virginia in the fall. It wasn’t a bad smell…it was just their scent…a very comforting scent. The little girl was wearing a floral print blouse with a vest and some cordoroy pants and some little boots. He was dressed in your typical navy blue utilitarian/countryside outfit. She was quite adorable with her long black hair and at one point I noticed her eyelids and how it seemed that she had taken a red marker and put on some “make up”. I don’t know if that’s what it was or not.
The Anhui countryside was beautiful…passing the tea fields during sunset. Once again, longing to be off this damn death trap and riding along the road, admiring the scenery. I begin to feel a little strange…and I begin to wonder if there is some carbon monoxide/exhaust pumping into these vehicle. I look over and notice the little girl falling asleep…I hope she wakes up and this isn’t from fumes. I begin to open up the window intermittently to breath some fresh air and get some into the bus. It’s now cold here, where the day before we had been playing in a stream.
Total time from getting on the bus…2.5 hours…total time to drive from Mountain to Train Station: 1 hour
We arrive about 15 minutes before the bus arrives. The woman who sold us the tickets orders us some food from her brothers restaurant and pushes into the bus. Only 3 seats available. Crowded…I’m over this. I sit down and recline my seat…as the fellow in front of me is too. I notice that my seat is being pushed slowly forward. I recline again. Finger tapping on my shoulder…turn around…”What”?
“Can you put your seat up?” – him
“What’s the problem?” – me
“I have no room?” – her
“So you are going to tell me I can’t but this guy can, what’s the deal?!!!”
Jason turns around at me, hearing my angry tone, I look at him…”She’s telling me I can’t recline but other people are.”
Her squeaky voice, “it’s just so small, there is no room”.
I put up my seat and it takes a lot for me not to stick my face in hers and say, “YOU LIVE IN CHINA AND YOU AREN’T USE TO THIS!!!!??? Mind you, she is Chinese. I hope her little tiny legs were comfortable as I got horrible motion sickness because the driver wanted to get us home so soon – 120 km/h. I didn’t say anything because I just wanted to get off the bus, I was still vomiting in my mouth 15 minutes after arriving in the bus station. Jason gets stopped to show his “Chinese ID Card”, but he doesn’t have one so he shows his American passport. “oh”, I tell him, “i heard about this…they are trying to keep track and regulations on the migrants”. Big brother needs to know where you are at all times. They look a little confused at him after his handing over of his Passport, with me standing next to him…and we leave.
Yellow Mountain : 2 out of 5 stars (the 2 for the moments we were away from people)
Anhui Countryside (from inside a bus/death trap/train) : 4 out of 5 stars
I am finally getting over this flu…H1N1?
My new friend Serene has donated some very important books and texts to my ride. These are books I hope will help my Chinese learning and comprehension. Thank you Serene – you are wonderful person – you give me hope for humanity.
Thanks to my mom’s input and an email to the guys at The Simple Map CLICK HERE, I will be using this really handy and nifty map for cyclists.
The government isn’t too fond of foreigners entering migrant schools right now. Happy “60th Birthday” China.
September 20, 2009
Eager Students Fall Prey to Apartheid’s Legacy
By CELIA W. DUGGER
KHAYELITSHA, South Africa — Seniors here at Kwamfundo high school sang freedom songs and protested outside the staff room last year because their accounting teacher chronically failed to show up for class. With looming national examinations that would determine whether they were bound for a university or joblessness, they demanded a replacement.
“We kept waiting, and there was no action,” said Masixole Mabetshe, who failed the exams and who now, out of work, passes the days watching TV.
The principal of the school, Mongezeleli Bonani, said in an interview that there was little he could do beyond giving the teacher a warning. Finally the students’ frustration turned riotous. They threw bricks, punched two teachers and stabbed one in the head with scissors, witnesses said.
The traumatized school’s passing rate on the national exams known as the matric — already in virtual free fall — tumbled to just 44 percent.
Thousands of schools across South Africa are bursting with students who dream of being the accountants, engineers and doctors this country desperately needs, but the education system is often failing the very children depending on it most to escape poverty.
Post-apartheid South Africa is at grave risk of producing what one veteran commentator has called another lost generation, entrenching the racial and class divide rather than bridging it. Half the students never make it to 12th grade. Many who finish at rural and township schools are so ill educated that they qualify for little but menial labor or the ranks of the jobless, fueling the nation’s daunting rates of unemployment and crime.
“If you are in a township school, you don’t have much chance,” said Graeme Bloch, an education researcher at the Development Bank of Southern Africa. “That’s the hidden curriculum — that inequality continues, that white kids do reasonably and black kids don’t really stand a chance unless they can get into a formerly white school or the small number of black schools that work.”
South Africa’s new president, Jacob Zuma, bluntly stated that the “wonderful policies” of the government led by his party, the African National Congress, since the end of apartheid 15 years ago, “have not essentially led to the delivery of quality education for the poorest of the poor.”
Scoring at Bottom
Despite sharp increases in education spending since apartheid ended, South African children consistently score at or near rock bottom on international achievement tests, even measured against far poorer African countries. This bodes ill for South Africa’s ability to compete in a globalized economy, or to fill its yawning demand for skilled workers.
And the wrenching achievement gap between black and white students persists. Here in the Western Cape, only 2 out of 1,000 sixth graders in predominantly black schools passed a mathematics test at grade level in 2005, compared with almost 2 out of 3 children in schools once reserved for whites that are now integrated, but generally in more affluent neighborhoods.
“If you say 3 times 3, they will say 6,” said Patrine Makhele, a math teacher at Kwamfundo here in this overwhelmingly black township, echoing the complaint of colleagues who say children get to high school not knowing their multiplication tables.
South Africa’s schools are still struggling with the legacy of the apartheid era, when the government established a separate “Bantu” education system that deliberately sought to make blacks subservient laborers. Hendrik Verwoerd, the prime minister who was the architect of apartheid, said “Bantu” must not be subjected to an education that shows him “the green pastures of European society in which he was not allowed to graze.”
The struggle against apartheid dismantled the discredited structures of authority in education that Mr. Zuma’s government is now seeking to replace with a new approach to accountability. In those years, the African National Congress sought to make the nation — and its schools — ungovernable. Supervisors — part of an “inspectorate” that enforced a repressive order — were chased out of the schools, as were many principals.
Mary Metcalfe, who was the A.N.C.’s first post-apartheid education minister in the province that includes Johannesburg, recalled principals in Soweto being forcibly marched out of the township. After apartheid ended, Ms. Metcalfe, recently appointed director general in the country’s Higher Education Ministry, said there was a grab for “power and jobs and money.”
Most teachers in South Africa’s schools today got inferior educations under the Bantu system, and this has seriously impaired their ability to teach the next generation, analysts say. Teachers are not tested on subject knowledge, but one study of third-grade teachers’ literacy, for example, found that the majority of them scored less than 50 percent on a test for sixth graders.
But South Africa’s schools also have problems for which history cannot be blamed, including teacher absenteeism, researchers say. And then when teachers are in school, they spend too little time on instruction. A survey found that they taught for a little over three hours a day, rather than the five expected, with paperwork consuming too many hours. Mr. Zuma noted that this deficiency was worse in poor and working-class communities.
“We must ask ourselves to what extent teachers in many historically disadvantaged schools unwittingly perpetuate the wishes of Hendrik Verwoerd,” he recently told a gathering of principals, implicitly challenging the powerful South African Democratic Teachers’ Union, which is part of the governing alliance.
As South Africa has invested heavily in making the system fairer, the governing party made some serious mistakes, experts say. The new curriculum was overly sophisticated and complex. Teacher colleges were closed down, without adequate alternatives. The teachers’ union too often protected its members at the expense of pupils, critics say.
“We have the highest level of teacher unionization in the world, but their focus is on rights, not responsibilities,” Mamphela Ramphele, former vice chancellor of the University of Cape Town, said in a recent speech.
South Africa’s new education minister, Angie Motshekga, said in an interview that a lack of accountability had weakened the whole system.
“There’s a complete breakdown,” said Ms. Motshekga, a former high school history teacher.
Teacher vacancies commonly go unfilled for months, she said. Principals cannot select the teachers in their schools or discipline them for absenteeism.
Ms. Motshekga said she had Mr. Zuma’s strong backing to give principals greater authority, and would also seek to change the law so the education department could pick principals directly — and hold them accountable.
“The president said to me, ‘Minister, immediately look at the powers of principals,’ ” she said.
Here in the Western Cape, where the opposition Democratic Alliance recently came to power, the province is considering monitoring teachers’ attendance by having them send text messages or e-mail messages — in response to an electronic query — to confirm they are present.
“We’ve got to get discipline back in schools,” said Donald Grant, the provincial education minister.
Discipline for Teachers
Kwamfundo Secondary School illustrates just how critical an effective principal and disciplined teachers are to student achievement — and how quickly a school’s success can crumble if they are lacking.
For much of this decade, Kwamfundo was led by Luvuyo Ngubelanga, a commanding man admired by students and teachers alike for his strict insistence on punctuality, his work ethic and his faith in them. He prowled the corridors of the yellow brick school, poking his head in classrooms and collaring misbehaving students, making them pick up litter, sweep the halls or clean the bathrooms.
Mr. Ngubelanga, who now runs a vocational college, said most teachers are dedicated, but some could “be naughty like kids.” He recalled finding a classroom packed with students and tracking down its AWOL teacher loafing at the back of another class.
In his years as principal, 75 to 82 percent of students passed the matric, a set of examinations given to seniors that shape their life chances. But the school has struggled since he was succeeded by his deputy, Mr. Bonani. The matric passing rate plunged to 65 percent in 2007 and 44 percent last year.
Teachers and students describe Mr. Bonani as a far less forceful presence, though he says he is engaged and active. Teacher absenteeism has been a major problem.
“There’s a lot of teachers who take sick leave,” said one teacher, who asked not to be named, as it would jeopardize his ability to work with colleagues. “They are not punctual in the morning. How do we expect learners to behave if we do not behave?”
Hungry for Knowledge
Despite last year’s violent episode, students seem to feel genuine affection for their school and speak of their hunger for knowledge and their faith in education to bring a better life.
The classroom itself, No. 12A, seemed shaken awake one recent first period as 52 seniors lifted their voices in harmony. Tall, lanky young men at the back of the room pounded out a driving beat on their backpacks in a morning ritual of song and rhythm.
Even when they realized the science teacher was absent, the student body president and his sidekick, a radiantly optimistic AIDS orphan, rose to lead a review session on evolution. And when the second-period English teacher was late, they just kept on talking about Darwin’s finches and genetic mutations.
“Quiet!” exclaimed Olwethu Thwalintini, 18, the student leader. “Can I have your attention, please. Exercise 2.1.”
Murmuring voices and shuffling papers fell silent.
“List two environmental factors which make it possible for the vertebrates to move onto land,” said Blondie Mangco, 17, the sidekick, whose mother died during final exams last year.
Blondie has barely passing grades in physical science, but she believes she will somehow raise them to A’s or B’s, win entrance to the university of her dreams and become an environmentalist, a doctor or a biomedical scientist. Now that her parents and big sister are dead of AIDS, she feels a duty to be a role model to her little brother.
“He’s looking up to me now,” she said.
Later that day, Arthur Mgqweto, a math teacher, strode into the classroom, jauntily wearing a township take on the fedora called a square. He teaches more than 200 students each day for a salary of $15,000 a year. His students describe him as a friend, a mother, a father, a guide.
“He comes early every, every, every day,” Blondie said. “He comes here early at 7 o’clock and he’s the last one to leave. He’s given himself to us.”
Mr. Mgqweto grew up in the countryside during the apartheid years, ashamed to go to school because he had no shoes. He finished high school in his 30s, sitting in class with children half his age. His only son was stabbed to death at age 21 in a nearby township.
“I always explain to them, life is very hard,” he said. “They must get educated so they can take care of their families when they grow old.”
His students bake chocolate cakes with him on their birthdays. Dozens come an hour early on weekdays and for Saturday morning sessions with him. He is paid nothing for those extra hours, except in their gratitude.
“I love that teacher,” said Olwethu, the student leader. “I love him.”
About a month ago I contacted Corinne of Stepping Stones – a Not for Profit started by her and based here in Shanghai. Taken directly from http://steppingstoneschina.net :
“The objective of this project is to assist students in migrant schools in Shanghai to gain interest and confidence in their English language abilities and to help them pass their middle school entrance examinations.”
If you aren’t familiar with the educational system of China…if you don’t get into a good middle school, you don’t get into a good high school – therefore, more than likely not passing your college entrance exam. your life is determined very early in life – it’s very unfortunate that innocent children just have to deal with the hand they’ve been dealt.
From the city center of Shanghai – it took about 45 minutes to get to the bus station. From there, I met Bernice with Stepping Stones and waited for 2 additional people with ai Community. From there, it took an additional hour to get out to the school.
You could hear the English repetition across the school yard – there are 4-6 large classrooms having class. Ages ranging by a couple of years in each room – along with attention span and studious attitudes. I did notice that the girls were paying closer attention than the boys and really trying. I was watching the behavior and games…and kids are really all the same, no matter where they live. There are little boys wrestling and punching one another in the groin while the little girls huddle together talking quietly with cute little dresses on.
I spent a couple of hours there, and you can tell through the progression of my photos, of how they adjust to my attendance. At first they are waving and jumping and a bit of obnoxiousness from the boys. I feel so bad about disrupting classes so I go sit outside during some of the class and chat with some of the kids sitting in the school yard. Between my elementary Chinese and their English – we have some pretty good little conversations. One boy is pulling needles off the pine tree and picking flowers and he asks me what it is and I tell him in English. And I also ask him questions about it, “What color is that flower?” He tells me he likes to draw. I ask him a couple of times, “What do you like to draw?” And he kept responding with “Yes”. Dang – now I know how I sound when people speak to me in Mandarin and I say “dui” – when it wasn’t a Yes/No Question. At least children can get away with that, I just seem like a moron.
The little boy in the picture above was sitting alone in one of the classrooms during break time. The two teachers are there as well. He looks up briefly from his folded paper with a slight smile, but a sense that he is very involved with his current task. “Hello” I say to him.
“Hello.”
“What’s your name?”
“—-”
“My name is Ellen”, and I walk over to him and he stands up, we shake hands (him almost handing me is left hand but switches) “it’s very nice to meet you”.
The teacher translates, he smiles “it’s nice to meet you too.”
During the last hour, some children are playing “SandBag”. It’s kind of like Dodgeball…but way more intense and you get hit by a cloth bag packed with sand/rice/something rather than a ball with air. I ask one of the guys working on the library if he want’s to play basketball with me. So after a couple of attempts, I notice about 6-8 little boys gathering around me and we start a game. Guess who is the only one to make a shot? Yeah, that’s me! I kind of amazed myself but again I was playing with little boys – some half my height. I am not sure how they felt about a girl making a basket, so I laid off and just rebounded the ball.
Eventually we lead into playing soccer – my bad – football. I have the same group of little boys, and I am kicking the ball high into the air, with 2 cameras around my neck. We play a watered down version of a game, a camera in one hand to prevent from slamming against the other. I’m running, I’m sweating…I’m having fun…what a day!
I did not take this photo – BUMMER.
So Wednesday, I am riding my bike to Chinese class at the Shanghai Business Center and I see one of the blue flat bed trucks loaded down with flowers. There are a couple of men unloading the packs down to the sidewalk to plant in the very small park/intersection. I have my 35mm film camera with me – but I am rushed to class.
After class, I pull my bicycle over to the side of the road and take a picture from a far. Of course, I am spotted…and it seems to be by the supervisor. He starts smiling, shouting, and waves me over. What? This is a total change of course.
So I roll my bike over to the park and one guy tells me in Chinese that he doesn’t want to have his picture taken, after “Supervisor” is smiling, making the act of taking a picture, and pointing to this guy. I ask, “为什么？“ That’s wei shen me – “why”?He then continues to tell me it’s because he is not “beautiful”. I respond that he is very beautiful. So after some chuckles, and then getting to deep into the language that I have found myself lost for words – they go back to work and I take some more pictures before heading home.
The city really opens up when you can talk the talk.
It’s moments like that and on Monday, when I was at the Shanghai Stadium climbing. There was a group of us – locals and foreigners – over in the Bouldering area. And the foreigners would speak English – while the Chinese would understand but respond in Mandarin – but us foreigners understood – but would respond in English. It’s amazing when you can carry on basic conversations speaking in your native tongue but listening to something so different.
It’s kinda cool.
